


(and i don't know) how i would even start

by nothingunrealistic



Series: this human heart (built with this human flaw) [1]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Gen, Jealousy, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 08:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12104955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingunrealistic/pseuds/nothingunrealistic
Summary: Jared's got something to say about nearly everyone and everything, and most of the time, it's the easiest thing in the world to go ahead and say it.When it comes to feelings, though, speaking his mind is a little more difficult.





	1. from the top of my heart

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from "If I Could Tell Her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "All Delighted People (Original Version)" by Sufjan Stevens.

“Why would you write that?” Evan demands. The idea of another guy getting off to him must be too much for his fragile constitution.

Jared cackles, looking from the screen in front of him to Evan, standing at his side. “I’m just trying to tell the truth.”

Evan walks around behind his chair frantically, forcing Jared to swivel his head around to keep looking at him. “Look, if you’re not gonna take this seriously —”

“Okay, you need to calm yourself,” Jared cuts in, because he can’t write fake emails and deal with a panicky Evan simultaneously, but Evan’s still rambling, not satisfied with what Jared’s got so far. “…that we were friends, they have to be completely realistic!”

“There is nothing unrealistic about the love that one man feels for another!” Jared retorts, gesturing to the laptop, and damn, that’s a good line. Stoppard would be jealous, probably. And it’s true, because even though Evan’s ridiculous story about being Connor’s soulmate and having to hide their connection from the rest of the world and staring into his eyes in the middle of an orchard somewhere is complete crap, it would be totally plausible if he’d gone full out and just said they were lovers. Even more unbearable, sure, but totally plausible. “In fact, some would say there’s something quite beautiful…”

“Let’s go back, Jared!” And Evan, less than six inches away, has taken his own laptop right out of his hands. Jared flings his hands up in the universal gesture of _sorry my ideas are such an affront to you_ and settles back, leaning on the back of his swivel chair, to see what Evan can come up with when he’s not under pressure.

Predictably, it’s bad. Maybe Evan can write for English class well enough, but somehow he has no idea how normal teenagers communicate, despite being one. But that was pretty clear when he said he and his fake best friend mostly emailed, rather than using Snapchat or texting or doing literally anything else. Jared makes sure to point out every ridiculous phrase he can along the way, if only because getting a rise out of Evan is so endlessly entertaining.

Apparently Evan’s tired of having it pointed out how absurd this all is, as by the time he gets to the incredibly egregious term “smoking drugs,” he’s ready to return Jared’s laptop to him. “Just fix it!”

“This isn’t realistic at all.” Evan won’t even look in his direction. “It doesn’t even sound like Connor.”

Now, finally, Evan’s facing him. “Well, I wanted to show that I was, like, a good friend. That I was trying to help him. You know?”

“Oh my God,” Jared laughs, because he’s sincere, he’s completely serious about trying to make this fake friendship sound supportive, and it’s adorable. He picks up writing where Evan left off.

Joking about Connor smoking crack doesn’t create a sufficiently rosy image, so Jared writes a bunch of nonsense about how Connor’s gonna try to be less of a dick, and how it’s so easy to change your whole life if you just believe in yourself. None of it sounds any more like Connor than what Evan wrote, but somehow he seems to like it.

Jared signs the email and turns to Evan. “Are we done yet?” The wrong question, it turns out, as Evan immediately starts panicking about how one email isn’t enough and insisting that he isn’t hyperventilating even though he clearly is.

“Do you need a paper bag to breathe in?”

“I am NOT HYPERVENTILATING,” Evan shouts, practically looming over Jared in his swivel chair (Evan’s actually taller than Jared anyway, but it’s usually not noticeable given how curled into himself he tends to be), and holy shit is it weird to hear him yell like that, and his face is so close to Jared’s, even closer than before, that they could easily kiss —

Jared blinks, the brakes on that train of thought squealing loudly, and starts transcribing whatever it is Evan’s saying for his response to “Connor.” It’s inane, even more so than “Connor’s” original email, and Jared makes sure to tell him so, but he’s pretty sure he’s got a stupid grin on his face the entire time. Even when — especially when? — Evan’s going on about how proud he is of him, and how Evan can see that he’s changing for the better, and then all the stuff he put into the first email about believing in yourself. And a line about Zoe Murphy, which Evan yells at him again for, but it’s fine.

At some point, Evan realizes how it sounds to say all this sappy shit to another guy and claim that their friendship is beyond average, and insists that Jared add a “we’re not actually gay” disclaimer to one of the emails. He doesn’t really want to do it — go hard or go home, he thinks, and why would you feel the need to tell your friend that you’re totally just bros in your private correspondence anyway? — but in it goes, because what else is he gonna do, say no?

One hour of writing turns into two, and as Evan gradually spends more and more time holding the laptop, Jared starts to feel… he’s not sure how best to put it, but “left out” seems close. Like he’s losing creative control, and he’s only there because Evan can’t be bothered to Google “how to backdate emails.” He’s working on one draft and Evan insists that he include some inside joke that Jared doesn’t understand because it developed in a sequence of five emails he didn’t even read until after they were written. And it’s weird, too, how Evan’s putting more effort into a relationship (for any definition, really) with some dead guy he barely knew than he ever has into forming real-life friendships with anyone, even people whose houses he’s been to and who he’s known for years. Not just weird — it’s aggravating. Like if this Connor and the whole story were real, he and Evan would probably be obnoxiously making out right in front of Jared.

But then Evan’s handing his laptop back to him, and saying something about how he has to go home soon, and digging a crumpled twenty dollar bill out of his pocket, and looking so ridiculously grateful that Jared can’t even be mad at him. He feels bad taking the money, too, because Heidi probably wanted him to use it to get takeout yet again, and Jared only asked to be paid because it would be weird if he offered to commit forgery (does this count as forgery?) for free for no reason at all. Evan profusely thanking him — and owing him for his tech skills, if for nothing else — is payment enough, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst? In my Sincerely Me? It's more likely than you think.


	2. more than the world can contain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "John My Beloved" by Sufjan Stevens.

“You _what?”_

Jared means for it to come out with incredulity, an air of “are you sure you’re not lying to me too but this time about the girl you’re obsessed with instead of her dead brother?” Instead, it erupts as nearly a shriek that carries more than a hint of indignant outrage, but he doesn’t think it’ll matter much to Evan, who was already shaking in his New Balances before he said a word.

“I didn’t mean to, it just happened,” Evan insists, which is total crap. Physically speaking, there is no possible way you could kiss someone without meaning to on some level, not even if they’re leaning directly over you with their face six inches away from yours, and Jared’s absolutely sure Zoe wasn’t doing anything even vaguely resembling that. What a surprise that Evan’s lying again.

Anyway, he’s pretty sure he’s got the incredulous thing down now. “I can’t believe you tried to kiss Zoe Murphy on her brother’s _bed._ After he _died.”_ It really is unbelievable, the perfect mixture of awkwardly creepy and downright morbid. Maybe they’ll get to second base while standing on Connor’s grave, and wow, is that a mental image that calls for a topic change. Jared points to his button, proudly made at the local Michaels. “Hey asshole, aren’t you going to say anything?”

Evan, clearly too caught up in his own drama to have seen it on his own, asks, “Is that a button with Connor’s face on it?” He’s as astute as ever.

“I’m selling them for a nominal fee at lunchtime tomorrow.”

“You’re making money off of this?” Evan practically gasps, as if he isn’t somehow also benefiting from Connor’s death by lying to his family about being best friends for forever just because he isn’t getting paid for it. But Jared’s not going to get anywhere telling him that, so instead he lists off all the other people who are making money off of this, all of whom Evan would know about already if he ever actually talked to anyone else.

Evan, though, isn’t even pretending to care about what other people are doing that he can judge them for. “What am I going to do about Zoe?”

Amazing. “Are you kidding? After last night? You can never walk into that house again.” At least, he hopes so, if the Murphys have any sense at all. “Besides, this whole Connor thing? In another few days, it’ll be played out anyway.” And Jared would be lying if he said he’s not ready for that to happen. Sure, he’ll be glad to have the cash from the buttons, and seeing his classmates falling all over themselves to look like kind, considerate people who would never have dreamed of making fun of Connor while he was alive is hilarious, and it’s kind of nice that Evan actually calls him on a semi-regular basis. But no one will want to buy his buttons three days from now, and soon enough everyone in the school will get sick of pretending to care — he tells Evan as much and gets told just how terrible it is — and it would be even nicer if Evan called him for something other than begging for assistance in keeping his rickety Jenga tower of lies and idiocy from collapsing on his head. “Hey. At least it was fun while it lasted. You got to have some quality time with your fake family, snuggle with Zoe Murphy…”

“But that’s… that’s not why I was doing it. I was trying to help them. I just wanted to help them.” Well, isn’t that precious. As if anyone who knew the truth would actually believe Evan just wanted to be helpful. Other than Evan, Jared’s the only one who does know the truth, and he sure isn’t buying this whole selfless, totally well-meant lying thing that Evan’s trying to sell.

“Regardless, bro.” Did he actually just use the word “bro”? To refer to Evan? What is he even doing? “It’s over. A week from now? Everybody will have already forgotten about Connor. You’ll see.”

He says it so confidently that he’s almost convinced himself, too.

A week passes. Nearly three-quarters of Jared’s buttons get bought and gradually get forgotten at home or vanish into trash cans. The tearful, heartfelt conversations in the halls between classes become shorter and shorter until they stop happening entirely.

It’s over.

And then it isn’t over. Because Evan comes running down the hall during free period one day, clutching a pamphlet that was almost certainly made in Microsoft Publisher and looking like he’s being haunted by Connor Murphy himself. He’s demanding that Jared and Alana join his new club, the Connor Project, meant to keep his memory alive and show people they matter. As if that’s what Connor would have wanted, as if Evan knew anything about his “memory” other than “he signed my cast and stole my property that one time,” as if he’d deliberately picked the most cliché and boring name possible. (The Trevor Project, _The Laramie Project,_ _The Glee Project…_ it’s been done.)

He lets the discussion of presidencies and co-presidencies fly past and offers something glib about the buttons to make it seem like he’s invested. And then Evan taps him on the shoulder and asks, softly, “Do you really think we should do this?”, and Alana gives Evan the answer he wants before Jared can bring himself to say “no, absolutely not,” or “are you really so desperate for Zoe to notice you that you’re going to keep adding onto our pile of lies?” or “is there any reason why there can’t be three co-presidents?”

The events of the next several days go by impossibly fast.

The meeting at the Murphys’ house, where Alana and Evan somehow convince Connor’s entire family that the Project is a good idea, and where Jared speaks up twice — once as the Connor Project treasurer, once as the type of obnoxious wingman he figures Evan wants him to be — and gets shot down, by Evan, twice. Where Alana goes on about _Huck Finn_ and tenth grade English and Jared thinks about just how fucking ironic it is (another English lesson) that she probably knew Connor the best out of the three of them, and how it’s a miracle that she ever believed Evan’s story at all.

The assembly, which Jared misses the first half of (Sabrina Patel’s speech, probably ridiculously sappy, and the jazz band performance) because he overslept. He arrives just in time to hear Evan’s piece from beginning to end, which somehow transforms from a trainwreck rivaling the Daisy Buchanan disaster of junior year into the kind of inspirational speech a thousand televangelists and politicians would probably kill to give.

The hours and days after the assembly, when the Connor Project page gains hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of followers, the video of Evan speaking becomes the most shared video on Facebook, and #YouWillBeFound is the highest trending hashtag on Twitter for at least twelve hours. People’s stories about feeling lost and being found, in pictures and videos and walls of text, plaster the internet, and Evan beams brightly every time a new stranger thanks him for changing their life or honoring Connor’s, and Jared thinks that maybe, just maybe, Evan’s stumbled on one good, true thing, something to justify every email they’ve written and every lie they’ve told.

And then the incoming Skype call, at 12:59 AM, five and a half days after Evan dropped his notecards all over that stage, in which Evan shakily tells him that Zoe had thanked him for giving Connor back to her and then kissed him. That they had kissed each other. (On Connor’s bed, _again,_ the fucking freaks.)

Jared laughs, disbelieving, unwilling to believe. He ends the call at 1:01 AM without saying a single word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "YOU WHAT?!" is practically engraved on my soul at this point.


	3. some way, you will want it your way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for emetophobia - nothing especially graphic, but be careful all the same.
> 
> Chapter title from "Bad Communication" by Sufjan Stevens.

Evan doesn’t need him.

Doesn’t need him to be the Connor Project treasurer, now that Alana’s declared herself the associate treasurer (along with half a dozen other positions that were approved unanimously because neither he nor Evan cared enough to vote “no”) and started treating the Kickstarter like it’s her own child who absolutely has to get into all the Ivies. Doesn’t need him to write emails anymore, since apparently suggesting that someone who isn’t Evan might have wanted to hang out with Jared is the least believable part of a story that includes Evan breaking into an apple orchard that’s been closed for seven years to hang out with a guy who shoved him off his feet in a school hallway. Doesn’t need him to hang out with, for that matter, what with the entire student body knowing Evan’s name now and wanting to sit with him at lunch or work with him in class so they can say they know the real Evan Hansen. (As if anyone but him really knows Evan.)

Evan doesn’t need him or want him or care about him, so it’s no surprise that he turns down Jared’s offer to get drunk together at his house in favor of the Connor Project. Jared hadn’t expected him to accept, only asked because it would have been better than getting drunk alone at his house. What is surprising is Evan insisting that he should be working on it too.

“Uh, remember when you told me you didn’t need my help?” It couldn’t have been more than two weeks ago, and he knows Evan’s memory isn’t that bad.

“I didn’t tell you to do nothing,” Evan says self-righteously, as if he’d ever told Jared to do anything at all. “I know you think this is all a joke but it isn’t. It’s important.” He starts to walk away.

“For Connor.”

Evan stops in his tracks. “Yeah.” And he’s so ridiculously serious that Jared wonders if maybe he’s starting to believe it himself, if he actually thinks Connor was — is — the most important person in his life and would want a dead orchard reopened with his name on it.

There’s a bubble that needs bursting. “You know, when you really stop and think about it, Connor being dead, that’s pretty much the best thing that’s ever happened to you, isn’t it?”

“That’s a horrible thing to say,” Evan gasps, like Jared doesn’t say things that are both objectively horrible and objectively true every day.

“Well, but, no, think about it,” Jared presses. “If Connor hadn’t died, no one would even know who you are.” No one but him. “I mean, people at school actually _talk_ to you now. You’re almost… _popular._ Which is just…” How best to put the impossibility of this entire situation while keeping up the snark that Evan expects from him? “…wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” Evan insists, shutting his eyes and shaking his head like he doesn’t want to see the truth that’s right in front of him, that if there were ever a time when he wasn’t getting anything out of lying to the world, it’s long over. “I don’t care if people at school know who I am. All I wanted was to —”

“Help the Murphys.” The words ring out in unison. Jared can’t remember the last time they did that. “Yeah. I know. You keep saying that.”

Evan backs away from him a little, and Jared thinks that maybe something he’s said has finally gotten through, that maybe now Evan will realize that he’s lying to himself too about what he really wants.

Until none other than Zoe Murphy herself appears, guitar case on her back and backpack in her hand, and doesn’t she know that’s not how luggage is supposed to work? “Hey Jared,” she says to him, the second surprise of the day, since he’s said maybe nine words in her presence ever and half of them were to Evan. But Evan’s clearly what she’s here for. “Hi,” she breathes, taking Evan’s hand and gazing into his eyes, about as subtle as a billboard saying I’M DATING MY DEAD BROTHER’S SUPPOSED BEST FRIEND AND I DON’T CARE WHO KNOWS IT.

And then she kisses him.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

Jared remembers, vividly, one day in sixth grade, when he and Evan were supposed to present their poster for the science fair in class together. He’d gotten off the bus that morning, trifold board in hand, and stood outside the school, waiting for the doors to open, for Evan to show up. Eventually, Evan had emerged from his own bus, walked up to Jared looking even shakier and paler than usual, and thrown up on the ground directly in front of him before he could get a word out.

And instead of comforting him and taking him to the nurse, like a friend would, or laughing in his face and walking away, like an asshole would, Jared had stepped back, once or twice, staring at Evan with wide eyes, and then had turned and run, trying to get as far away as possible as quickly as possible, leaving Evan alone in the crowd. Like a coward would.

For the rest of the day, Jared had felt _wrong,_ sick to his stomach, struggling to focus in his classes, trembling whenever he couldn’t force himself to relax and stay still, constantly replaying that moment in his head despite how much he wanted it to stop. He still can’t remember how he managed to present their science project, beyond knowing that he had to do it alone. During lunch, he could barely eat half of his sandwich, and a teacher had actually made him go and lie down in the nurse’s office because he’d looked so drained of color. Somehow, seeing Evan like that had thrown him completely out of balance, as if he’d been the one vomiting on the ground, as if there were no distinct boundary where one of them ended and the other began.

That’s how Jared feels now, deeply nauseated and like the ground is tilting under his feet and all too aware that every little thing Evan does shouldn’t affect him like this, shouldn’t have this much control over him. He’s known this was happening — he’s heard far too much about it already — but he’d hoped he’d never have to see it, hoped no one else would, thought they’d have the shame or the common sense to keep their little fling confined to their bedrooms. (Or Connor’s bedroom, more likely. Ugh.)

He’s staring at both Evan and Zoe as he starts to step back, but they only have eyes for each other. He can’t say anything, but he has to say something.

“Look at you,” his brain finally supplies as he manages to turn away at last, and Jared doesn’t know if he’s really saying _look at yourself, don’t you see what’s wrong with what you’re doing_ or _look at me, do you see me at all?_ “Helping the Murphys.”

Jared goes, certain that now Evan and Zoe are finally looking at him, hearing her ask him something with confusion evident in her voice. Probably “what the fuck just happened?” He’s not moving particularly fast — it’s a power walk at best — but he’s still running away, again, from what’s just happened right in front of him. From something he couldn’t have stopped if he tried.

Maybe they’ll get to second base standing on his grave instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Jared. (You've got a big storm coming.)


	4. but saying it out loud is hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Futile Devices" by Sufjan Stevens.

Not even five days later, after all that, it’s Evan who comes running to him.

It isn’t totally unexpected. Evan hasn’t messaged him or tried to call him since that day with Zoe, but Alana texted him an hour ago asking if he knew where Evan was and why he hadn’t read any of her texts (Jared hadn’t known) and ten minutes ago offering him a position as co-president (he’d declined), which gives him the impression that Evan’s Jenga tower of lies is finally starting to wobble now that he’s not there to prop it up. They’re not friends, not even acquaintances really, but Jared thinks they could be allies, working together to prevent Evan from letting the entire Connor Project fall apart in full view of the world.

Still, it’s deliciously ironic when Evan bursts into Jared’s free period, practically drags him into the hallway, and begs him to write more emails, of all things. To change the story. Jared can’t help but laugh.

In a totally unforeseen turn of events, Evan’s not pleased with him. “This isn’t funny.”

“Oh, I think it’s hilarious.” Hilarious isn’t quite the right word, but it’s as close as he’ll get without having to pull out a thesaurus. “I think everyone would probably think it’s hilarious.” Jared knows he would think so, if he were watching this all unfold from the outside rather than being stuck in the middle of it.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Evan demands, as if he doesn’t remember how he brushed off all Jared’s offers to help and then acted as if they were still on the table two weeks later, as if he doesn’t even know the meaning of self-awareness, let alone have any. Unlike Jared, who’s well aware of what a dick he can be, Evan’s got no clue. He probably still thinks he’s a good person.

Jared decides to push his luck. “It means, you should remember who your friends are,” he explains, maybe a bit cliché, maybe a little self-righteous, but he thinks he’s earned the right to be both of those things. Maybe kind of bitter, too, but when has he ever not been bitter? Oh, wait, he remembers — it was before Evan decided the only person who would voluntarily talk to him for years, who really knows him the way a friend does rather than a parent or a therapist, wasn’t worth his time.

“I thought the only reason you even talk to me is that you — because of your car insurance?” Evan says, stumbling a little but too casual, hardly even looking at him, and _oh no._

Jared’s made a mistake. A huge mistake. Two, really, the first being to insist on the whole “family friends”/car insurance façade at all, and the second being to let the façade slip, to reveal that he’s been caring about Evan of his own volition this entire goddamn time. Because now Evan knows, and he’s desperate and frustrated and all too eager to use anything he can against Jared, and Jared’s not ready.

“So?” he finally spits out, after being speechless for too long. It’s panicky and defensive, a brick wall raised against a ballistic missile. And Evan immediately drops the bomb.

“So,” he echoes, “maybe the only reason you talk to me, Jared, is because you don’t have any other friends.”

He’s right. Yet again, Evan has somehow managed to dig through the miles of endless bullshit, the years of deflection and half-assed excuses and conversations cut off too soon, and find one of the only true things at the center of it all. Without Evan — regardless of what every single inspirational video or blog post the Connor Project has ever published says — Jared is utterly alone. But there’s nothing good about this truth; it’s ugly, with sharp, jagged edges, and Evan has taken it and driven it into Jared’s gut, a knife slipped effortlessly under his ribcage.

Jared can’t retreat, not with all his defenses lying broken on the ground at his feet. So he lashes out instead. It’s one of the few skills he has left.

“I could tell everyone everything,” he yells, jabbing an accusing finger in Evan’s direction, and his voice and hands may both be shaking, but he means it. He already knows the whole story is starting to fall apart, so why should he be afraid to give it the final push? Why shouldn’t he tell the world that Evan’s never been to an apple orchard in his life and that Connor Murphy only ever had one email address and that not a single person came running to find Evan while he was lying under that oak tree? Why shouldn’t he feel free to expose every lie that Evan’s ever told now that Evan’s done just that to him?

But Evan’s not backing down. He’s coming closer, looming over Jared again even though Jared’s standing now too, because Evan’s standing straight and tall and completely unrecognizable. “Okay, great, you go ahead and do that,” he yells right back, and Jared doesn’t know this Evan at all. “Tell everyone how you helped write emails pretending to be a kid who killed himself.”

God, he’s an idiot.

He’d forgotten that he’s practically as culpable in all this as Evan is. That he’d encouraged Evan to just nod and confirm at the Murphys’ house rather than figuring out how to tell them the truth. That he’d written the very first words of the very first fake email and thousands more after that, that his name is (still) on the masthead of a world-famous nonprofit group that he knew from the start was founded on lies and misunderstandings and Evan’s own inability to just speak up. Evan’s lies, Jared’s lies — there’s no telling them apart, and if Evan goes down, Jared will inevitably go down with him. That’s how it’s always been since, if not that day in sixth grade or their very first play date at the age of six, the moment Jared offered to write those emails for him for no reason at all.

Well. Not no reason. There’s always been a reason. He’s always known the reason.

And if Evan knows it too, if he’s managed to uncover the one last piece of truth that Jared’s been clinging to, he surely won’t hesitate to stab this one directly into Jared’s heart, and he can’t, he can’t let that happen.

“Fuck you, Evan,” Jared chokes out, on the verge of sobbing, twelve again and powerless and certain he’s being torn in two. “Asshole.” And he’s running again, running for real this time, running away like he always does, from Evan and from himself.

Even with his strongest glasses — and even without having to swipe away the tears brimming under them — the lines that distinguish one from the other are blurred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *zips past a billboard reading Thank You For Visiting Dear Evan Hansen Canon at 75 mph*


	5. so much anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fools rush in where Steven Levenson fears to tread.
> 
> If you haven't checked out the other works in this series ("the lights will arise" and "if you only say the word"), now would be a good time to do that.
> 
> Chapter title from "All Delighted People (Classic Rock Version)" by Sufjan Stevens.

By the time graduation practice arrives, they haven’t spoken to each other in four months.

Not that Jared hasn’t heard anything from Evan — he’s seen more than enough of what Evan has to say. Like the note, posted on the Connor Project Facebook page the night after… well, after, accompanied by a heartfelt message from Alana asking for several thousand dollars. The note that thousands, if not millions, of people read thinking Connor had written it. The note that Jared read for the first time that night (and the second, third, and fourth), knowing full well who’d written it and why, and then tried to shove to the back of his mind, along with an uncomfortable amount of guilt.

Or like the texts Evan had sent him two days later. The first one, in the middle of the afternoon, _I told the murphys;_ the second, a few hours later, _my mom knows;_ the third and final one, just before midnight, _i’m sorry._ Jared had read them all without replying, remembering too late that Evan doesn’t get read receipts on his weird obscure phone, and gone on with his life.

(He’d spent the better part of a week in a panic spiral, waking up way too early in the morning no matter how late he went to sleep, moving through school pretty much on autopilot, thoughts a constant loop of _this is the end, everyone will find out what you did and there goes your future, how could you be so fucking stupid_ and _where is he, is he okay, why did he tell them, how could he be so fucking stupid._ And he’d wondered if this was how Evan felt all the time.)

(Five days after sending those texts, Evan had returned to school, subdued and no longer surrounded by his usual crowd of suckups. Jared had breathed a quiet sigh of relief that at least one of those shoes had dropped, then started working out how to get to all his classes without having to cross paths with Evan in the hall.)

Now, Jared’s fully prepared to get his hands on his diploma and leave this school and all its associated memories behind. He’s already got an acceptance letter from RIT, thanks to a decent transcript, great SAT scores, and a slightly too personal but very well received essay about empathy and social media. AP exams are over, finals are done, and no one’s come to arrest him for forgery or fraud or whatever it is they charge you with for impersonating a dead teenager and making thousands of dollars off of it. (The fact that the Kickstarter ended and Alana, now sole president and treasurer of the Connor Project, actually started working on building the orchard, hasn’t completely assuaged his fears about that scenario.)

He’s ready to be done with it.

Evan, who somehow appears right in front of him as all the seniors are filing out of the auditorium after rehearsal finishes, is not. “Can I talk to you?”

As if Jared could stop him. “Nope.” He’s already walking away when Evan actually grabs him by the wrist and somehow half-drags him into the empty classroom just down the hall. Will wonders never cease?

Evan flips on the lights, shuts the door, and turns to Jared. “I need to talk to you.”

“So we’re not even asking for permission now?”

“No, I… I wanted to apologize.”

So he’s figured out that a two-word text doesn’t count as a real apology. Jared folds his arms. “I’m listening.”

“Okay. Um.” Evan glances up at the ceiling and then back to Jared. When he starts talking again, his voice is kind of stiff and overly enunciated, like he’s reading from an invisible set of notecards. “I’m sorry. For treating you like your feelings weren’t important, and for not listening when you told me that what I was doing was wrong, and for saying that you had no other friends.”

“Well, you don’t really need to apologize for that one,” Jared says, although the memory still stings. “It was true.”

“But I only said it to hurt you, and I shouldn’t have, and also I’m not finished.” At least he’s admitting to it. “I did a lot of things that probably really hurt you, and some of them were on purpose, and all of them were wrong. I feel really bad about everything I did, and I promise I’ll never do any of it again. I hope you can forgive me, but I’ll understand if you don’t.”

Jared just stares at him. “Did you _memorize_ all of that?”

“I wanted it to be a good apology, okay?”

“And it was.” It’s definitely better than any apology Jared’s ever given. “But it’s not going to make much of a difference to me when the Murphys decide to stop biding their time and throw me into Lake Ontario for pretending to be their son.”

Evan looks confused. The familiarity of it is comforting. “The Murphys.”

“Yeah, the Murphys,” Jared echoes with more than a hint of sarcasm. “They’re that family we spent months lying to until you decided to tell them the truth at the worst possible time, and somehow they haven’t sued us into oblivion yet, so I assumed they were playing a long game. You remember them, right?”

“I didn’t tell them about you.”

That may well be the funniest thing Evan’s ever said. “Um, you didn’t have to. They met me. In their house. My name was on the Connor Project right below yours. Plus your girlfriend, who’s their daughter, by the way, knows exactly who I am, and I’m pretty sure she hates me —”

“She’s not my girlfriend anymore,” Evan interrupts. Jared had kind of guessed that already, seeing as Zoe’s not stupid and he hasn’t seen her with Evan in months, but it’s nice to hear it confirmed. “Obviously. And what I meant was I didn’t tell them that you helped write the emails. Or that you knew I wasn’t friends with Connor. I don’t think they’re going to tell people what really happened, not after this long, but if they do, you shouldn’t be part of it.”

Hearing that lifts a weight off of Jared’s chest that he didn’t fully realize was there until it was gone. “Oh. That’s good. Thanks.” That’s not nearly enough to get across what he’s feeling, so he adds, “And I do. Forgive you, and accept your apology, and everything.”

Relief washes over Evan’s face, showing by contrast just how worried he’d been before. “Oh, good. That was pretty much all I had to say, so, um, thanks.” Clearly he’s got somewhere else to be, because now that he’s said his piece he’s turning and going to the door, Evan’s _leaving —_

“I’m sorry, too,” someone says, and it takes Jared a moment to realize that it’s his voice, he said that, and what’s more, he means it.

Evan pauses at the door. “What for?” he asks, softly, cautiously.

“Well,” Jared stalls, trying to figure out what exactly it is he’s sorry for. “For telling you to fuck off, I guess.” Not a great start. “For not answering your texts that one day. And threatening to tell everyone the truth just because I was mad at you.” Slowly, Evan turns around and moves back toward him, and all Jared’s regrets of the past four months, of the past year, of the past six years, begin to rise to the surface. “For all those times I made fun of you or said you were screwing things up just to be a dick. For acting all bitter and jealous about your thing with Zoe —”

“Jealous?”

Shit. “— although in my defense, that was still creepy and it’s a good thing she dumped you. For what I said about you breaking your arm —” Jared stops there, voice cut off like someone’s karate-chopped his trachea, and stares at the floor. He really doesn’t want to think about that, and Evan probably doesn’t want him to talk about it.

A tentative hand, barely there, brushes his arm. “…are you… okay?”

“No.” A pause. “I’m Jared.” An incredibly weak joke, sure, but it’s enough to make Evan bury his face in his hands and mutter “Oh my _God,”_ and that gives Jared time to get his voice back. “Also, that wasn’t everything.”

“Are you going to apologize for your sense of humor?”

“Great comedy is nothing to apologize for,” Jared retorts, and he thinks that maybe after this conversation, they’ll be able to go back to the way they used to be — or better yet, the way they should have been. “No, I… all those times I said we weren’t friends, or tried to act like I hated you. I didn’t want to show how much I — that I cared, because fuck vulnerability, right?” Evan laughs weakly at that. “But I guess that just made you feel more alone, which is kind of how we got into all this shit in the first place, so. Sorry about that too.”

“Thank you,” Evan says quietly, and then a little louder, “It’s kind of my fault that you got involved in it, though. Since I made you help me.”

“Evan, other than having this unnecessarily long conversation about feelings, you haven’t _made_ me do a single thing,” Jared says, and even that feels like giving away too much, yet he continues. “I offered to write those emails, remember? For one percent of the asking price.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Evan confirms. “Never really understood why, though,” and Jared wants to laugh and cry at that, because Evan doesn’t know, didn’t know, couldn’t have used it against him even if he’d wanted to.

“Well, the alternative was watching you break down trying to fake them yourself and then getting a call from you at one in the morning freaking out over the Murphys realizing you lied to them and kicking you out. It would’ve been the Daisy Buchanan thing times, like, a thousand.”

“I thought you thought that was funny. You told me it was hilarious.”

“It was excruciating,” Jared snaps. “There was nothing funny about watching you like that. I thought I was going to have an aneurysm along with you.”

“But _why?”_ Evan asks, quiet yet insistent, and Jared’s pretty sure he’s not just referring to junior year English. “Why did you care so much and then pretend you didn’t at all? Just because ‘fuck vulnerability?’”

Well, shit.

He’s backed himself into a corner now. Not a literal one — it would be easy to just walk out of this classroom now and go home. He could agree with Evan’s reasoning, avoid the question entirely, retreat behind the walls he’s spent the past four months painstakingly rebuilding and the past ten minutes chopping holes through. It would be so easy.

But it’s just him and Evan in this room, and Evan is looking at him, straight at him, patiently but expectantly, and as sincere as he’s always been. This is the Evan he knows, and there are no knives in his hands.

All this emotional honesty has drained him, yes, but Jared is tired of hiding, tired of lying, and so, so tired of running.

He takes a deep, deep breath, and makes his decision.

“There’s something I should tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [banner reading WILL ROLAND PLEASE INTERACT]

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments make the world go 'round.
> 
> Find me on tumblr @nothingunrealistic.


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